


Looking for a Bridge to Burn

by EmeraldHeiress



Series: This Time Around [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Don't copy to another site, Gen, I accidently sequeled, Introspection, Light Angst, Mentioned Anakin Skywalker, Mentioned Obi-Wan Kenobi, Mentions of Canonical Character Death, Self-Doubt, Time Travel Fix-It, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:27:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29068029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldHeiress/pseuds/EmeraldHeiress
Summary: The world was the same, yet everything had changed around him and Qui-Gon didn’t understand any of it.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: This Time Around [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2132691
Comments: 31
Kudos: 179





	Looking for a Bridge to Burn

**Author's Note:**

> Someone left me a comment on the first one and it got me thinking about Qui-Gon and, well, there it is. -insert Jurassic Park gif here-
> 
> Thank you, [loosingletters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loosingletters/pseuds/loosingletters/works), for the beta run! 💖💖💖

The world was the same, yet everything had changed around him and Qui-Gon didn’t understand any of it.

Days ago, hours ago, moments ago, everything had faded to black — with a hole in his belly and the voice of his padawan ringing in his ears he had known no more. Visions, nothing but mist and vapor, of another time. The bark of an order, the hiss of a blaster, the shaking of ground in the aftershock of an explosion; mere impressions of another state.

The feeling of helpless agony, only able to watch, a lingering sense of the past. 

The future? 

Whatever. He’d leave that debate to the Council.

Regardless, what he remembered — what he could taste, touch, and see — was all around him. The Temple, his home. His friends. His plants.

His _padawan._

Obi-Wan… and Anakin.

He _remembered_ bringing Anakin back to the Temple. He _remembered_ standing in front of the Council and proclaiming the boy the Chosen One. Then he had been on his knees with two more days and his own death in his head — the Council Chamber ringing with the shuddered cries and exclamations of their most esteemed. 

Qui-Gon wasn’t sure he could ever forget the sound of those metal doors as they bounced off the marble of the walls, or the look on Vos’ face as he held his blade to the throat of a nine-year-old. The sharp green light thrown over eyes infinitely too old for the face they belonged to. A young voice begging for death.

_What the kriff had happened after he had died?_

As he watched Obi-Wan and Anakin now, he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know. 

They moved with a grace he had seen only in the most practiced warriors on the furthest planets. Worn-torn and forged in the fires of adversity. Their blades moving with a speed he had only heard of in legends — stories told to the younglings, whispered about in the creche at night. Of the greatest Jedi knights from the Golden Age. 

Watching his padawan — _former padawan_ , he reminded himself. That was something that carried with it its own brand of pain. Obi-Wan had severed his own braid with barely a thought and an irritated look. Moments after the tiny Chosen One had broken down into tears, as the crowd in the Council Chamber shifted and moved, forming odd groups of knights, padawans, knights, and initiates — groups Qui-Gon had been left out of — Obi-Wan’s long braid had gotten caught as he moved. 

Like he wasn’t used to it anymore. Like he didn’t remember how to work with it.

A flash of surprise had crossed his face. Hardly a moment later, the woven lock fell to tiled mosaic. Something in Qui-Gon’s chest had lanced through, hurt, as he had watched. 

No one else had so much as batted an eye. 

_Master Kenobi._ Spoken without an thought, from the mouths of members of the Council. 

Master. 

His padawan.

And when had his padawan become an expert at so many things?

Qui-Gon’s eyes could barely follow the movements as they flowed — a devastating mix of Ataru and Soresu, needlingpressing _standing_ against the force of Mace’s Vapaad. Anakin darting in and out, weaving through the openings that Obi-Wan created, ducking in and striking what would be crippling blows in a real battle. 

He could tell, with each strike, that the boy was finding a new pace. Relearning his oldest style. Frustrated and unused to this form of attack; Djem So stances coming automatically to a frame no longer suited to it. But the _teamwork_ … With a glace, the two read each other. Every pulse, every twitch, every _moment_ a conversation between them. 

It was nearly poetry in motion. 

They _sung_ in the Force, in a harmony as clear and bright as anything the choir could ever hope for.

If he closed his eyes, if he let himself drift, he could almost see it. The swirls of Force, like molten gold, binding them tight. Weaving around them — through them. So tight it should take their breath away. 

Instead they _shone_. 

Far weightier than any tie either of them had had to him. 

Neither had need of him anymore.

Obi-Wan stood taller, spoke clearer, walked steadier than he could ever have imagined. And none of that was a credit to Qui-Gon’s teaching, he thought ruefully. And the Chosen One…

Well, Anakin was a shining example of the merits of his own Master. He didn’t know what had happened in the past — future — _whatever_ — and he’d definitely had no hand in _that_. However, what rumblings he had heard had all pointed fingers in a variety of ways. Many of which in the direction of the Senate building and a few at Anakin himself. 

The boy took those with a surprising amount of humility. Joking, occasionally, about age and _parenthood_ bringing clarity. ~~Qui-Gon really didn’t want to know.~~

Still, he couldn’t help but feel that ache. 

Dull, deep in his chest, as he looked at ~~his boys~~ the two young men.

Everything he’d missed. 

As young as they looked, they were grown men. Adults. Nearly his age, if what they said was correct.

His eyes tracked their movements — the duck of Obi-Wan’s head, lingering over his right shoulder where his braid should still be — the slide of Anakin’s heels, watching as the boy shifted his weight, his body slowly reorienting.

There was no place for him here. 

They barely even looked at him, their gazes skating past him as they moved from meetings, to trainings, to meals, to the next thing. _Over and over again._ The chaos of the Traveling still causing ripples throughout the Temple even now. 

He wasn’t sure what half of any of it even meant. 

Perhaps he should see about taking a trip — a pilgrimage to one of the outer rim temples? Get out from under— 

Qui-Gon yelped as a stick connected with his shin. 

“See, I can, the idiocy turning in your mind, my grandpadawan.”

He peered down to see the grumpy expression on Yoda’s face, “I’ve always been somewhat famous for it, Master.”

A snort. “So you have.” The tiny old man turned to look behind him, where Qui-Gon’s gaze had rested moments before. “Guidance, I think, need them.”

“They don’t need it from—”

“ _Second chance_ ,” Yoda continued, as if he hadn’t heard him, “us all, have been granted. Including _you_ , Qui-Gon.” 

Beady eyes studied him and Qui-Gon felt laid bare. All the things he had been avoiding thinking of loomed in his mind. No longer allowing themselves to be pushed aside or ignored. All his missteps as a master to his padawan, his insecurity in his own welcome at Obi-Wan’s side. At his own worthiness of the placement; every instance he had been forced to confront with the clarity that _kriffing time travel_ miserably granted.

“Mistakes forgotten, have not been. But time, other events… distances.” 

“I don’t… I can’t—” 

Sharp pain bloomed in his shins again as wood met flesh. He swore.

“Do or _do not_ , grandpadawan!”

The echo of what he didn’t say trailed after him as he stalked off, without so much as a backward glance at Qui-Gon. 

Shaking his head, his gaze was drawn back to the sparring group after the old Grandmaster disappeared. A curl of anxiety formed in his belly. Could he? 

Would Obi-Wan even want…

What could he…

How would he ever say…

Questions left trailing, unfinished in his mind as each new one occurred. A dozen unanswered, clamoring for attention. For resolution. 

Cheers rose up around him and he refocused his attention as Mace and Obi-Wan bowed to each other, grins stretched across their faces. Or, rather, what passed as a grin for the stern master of Vapaad. Anakin practically vibrated with energy as he sketched his own, squealing with joy when his master picked him up and swung him around afterward. 

Qui-Gon wondered, briefly, how confusing it must be; to be an adult trapped again within a child’s body. With all of a child’s impulses and control and all of an adult’s experiences. When everyone that interacts with you has no idea how to treat you.

He rose from his seat, as the rest of the crowd trickled out, and took a fortifying breath. 

Perhaps… it was time to stop running.


End file.
